


Trigger Finger

by ieatgrassalot



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Forehead Kisses, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, soft old men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:13:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27923599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ieatgrassalot/pseuds/ieatgrassalot
Summary: Jesse has regrets, Hanzo wants to help.a.k.a. Jess talks about his arm (the missing one)
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	Trigger Finger

Something in Jesse’s eyes had left that evening, as he stared down at his nub with the kind of look that translates over wrong. Hanzo, fresh out of the shower, tugs his towel from his head as he pulls on a soft cotton t-shirt, dropping the one around his waist to slip into boxers, taking his now damp towels and hanging them on the hooks on their door. He sees his lover so distraught, and tosses his previously dirty clothes into their shared hamper, before pulling back the covers on their bed and sliding in next to him softly. Without pause, he laces his hand in McCree’s remaining one, continuously gentle. He lies his head on his shoulder as they sit up in bed.

Jesse distantly feels the water remaining in Hanzo’s hair seep onto his bare shoulder, and he gently lies his head on Hanzo’s, knowing that he knows that Jesse is upset.

“What troubles you?” He asks softly, in that gruff voice he’s come to love.

Jesse’s brow furrows, pulled back to the present from his thoughts, and he sighs. “Thinkin’ about my arm.”

His response isn’t particularly helpful, but Hanzo knows this is how it goes. Coaxing his lover open to talking about what’s in his head is a common occurrence behind closed doors, and the first time Jesse looked so off, Hanzo didn’t want to pry - which ended in Jesse working himself into a panic attack and having to hold him until he exhausted himself to sleep. It was a long journey, but he knows how to push.

“What about it?” He asks, just as softly as the last.

There’s a beat of silence before Jesse responds. “I’m mad it’s gone, mostly. How I was stupid enough to lose it.”

Hanzo squeezes his hand. “I trust you don’t actually blame yourself. It’s not your fault.”

Jesse nuzzles his head in Hanzo’s hair. “You’d kill me if I did, anyway.” He whispers back with a humorless chuckle. “Started thinkin’ about how… I’ll never get to feel you, with that hand. I’ll never get to run those fingers through your hair.” He continues, sighing. “Feels wrong. Unbalanced.”

“You say ‘those fingers’ as if they are not yours,” Hanzo replies, “Why?”

There’s another beat of silence that drags longer than the last, that prompts Hanzo to lift their intertwined fingers to his face, pressing a kiss to the back of Jesse’s hand.

“Don’t know,” He finally says, his shoulders drawing tense, “The guy that lost that arm… he wasn’t me. Well, he was, it’s like…” He trails off, his frustration known through an unhappy growl. Hanzo presses another kiss to the back of his hand.

“Slow down, my love. And speak plainly.” He replies, knowing that his lover’s head is swirling with metaphors for how he’s feeling, and also knowing that voicing those won’t really help.

Jesse squeezes his hand and draws a breath, Hanzos head rising with his shoulder, before dropping back down with it as Jesse sighs. “I don’t like who I was when I lost that arm. But it… shit, it sounds silly, but it was part of who I was before that.” He says, Jesse’s voice soft and wavering. “I mean, that was my arm when I was a kid - he didn’t deserve that. And I’d like to think I’m a good man now, and I don’t think I deserve it either.” He continued, and Hanzo rubs his thumb across the back of his knuckles, quiet to let him continue. Jesse takes another breath. “My Momma didn’t deserve her work to get chopped off, and I had a birthmark on the back of it that matched my Pappy’s, so it felt like I was his work too. It feels like that old, dead and gone arm was all the good things I used to be a part of.” He explains, his voice growing sadder and his eyes going downcast. “And I threw all that away. The man that got his arm chopped off threw that all away, and now that he’s gone, I feel like it’s unfair that I gotta live with his mistake.”

Hanzo takes a minute to drink it all in, to let it stew in his clear head, and he rests against Jesse, quiet again. He looks down at their intertwined fingers, taking his own breath, and contemplates a fraction of how Jesse feels. Hanzo knows Jesse spoke as plainly as possible, and he’s appreciative of it, but it’s not like he knows how to deconstruct his lover’s pain to weed out all the inconsistencies into something he can understand. He hasn’t even done that for himself, yet, and his pain is entirely different - but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try.

“You are the culmination of all the people you described to me.” He whispers, trying to strike a chord that resonates.

Jesse doesn’t respond, and he doesn’t move, and Hanzo hesitantly takes that as a sign to continue. 

“You speak of your younger self as if he is not here, my love.” He continues, using his other hand to spread the fingers of the one he’s holding, holding it in front of Jesse’s downcast eyes. “This hand has belonged to you, just as long, yes? Your young self, and even younger, they’re all you. The man who lost his arm is Jesse McCree, as you are now - but that is not to say you haven’t changed.” He says, pressing on as he plays with his lover’s hand, turning it in his grip so the palm is facing up. He traces the lines there with his fingers. “You are still part of the good things you were a part of, as you are a part of the bad. The young man with his father’s birthmark is the same as the one who lost it - but the important part is that you learned from both of them. It is true, you did not deserve to lose part of yourself, but you are here now, and that cannot be changed.” 

Jesse grunts at that, trying to pull his hand away, but Hanzo continues to hold it with gentle pressure.

“Remaining bitter as you are, about something that is never coming back…” he pauses, thinking back to how he felt when he first struck down his brother, “It is fruitless. There is nothing to learn from that.”

Jesse grumbles again, but doesn’t try pulling his hand away. It simply twitches closed over Hanzo’s fingers, and Jesse takes a deep, shuddery breath. “I know that,” He starts, “I just- I don’t wanna feel this way anymore. And if I quit bein’ mad, then- all’s left is bein’ hurt, and I feel like bein’ angry about it is easier.”

Hanzo hums knowingly, having let his rage consume him fully when he made his mistake, only allowing grief under the heavy blanket of being black-out drunk or terribly alone. “I understand how you feel. But anger only lets you stew over your mistake.” He replies, pulling Jesse’s hand back to himself. “I would argue that letting it go through grief is better, in the long run.”

Jesse chuckles with no humor and hangs his head again, and tears start to drip from his eyes to the planes of his chest, Hanzo only catching the sight of them because of the light glinting off the little drops. “Shit, you’re right.” He whispers roughly, pulling his hand away to wipe at his tears. “Y’ always are.”

Hanzo turns and presses Jesse back to rest in the nest of pillows at the head of their bed, lying himself on top of him, taking his hand from him again to replace it with his own. He uses both, to cup Jesse’s face as his tears keep falling, wiping them away with his thumbs. He brushes Jesse’s bangs away from his face gently, leaning down to gently place a kiss on his forehead. Hanzo places a kiss on every part of his face, where the wrinkles from him scrunching it up are, until his face falls smooth. Jesse’s eyes are barely open when he speaks again, his voice still raw with emotion despite his cries being silent, but he smiles.

“Thank you, Han.” He whispers softly, raising his own hand and cupping Hanzo’s cheek with it, brushing the curtain of hair back to tuck it behind his ear.

Hanzo smiles down at him, soft and sweet. “Do not thank me, Jesse. I will be here as many times as you need me.” He whispers back, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his mouth properly.

Jesse doesn’t reply, but then again, he doesn’t really have to.


End file.
